


We Didn't Talk About Kevin (Not Much, Anyway)

by mikkelsex



Category: We Need to Talk About Kevin - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkelsex/pseuds/mikkelsex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin knew my class schedule, my zodiac sign, my allergies and my Myers-Briggs type, but all I could tell you about him was that he collected virus software, was good at archery and knew how to make me cum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Didn't Talk About Kevin (Not Much, Anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> The narrator is gender-neutral, and all those sexually involved are consenting and 18 years old.

For some, eye contact was a kink and for others, it was a curse. Kevin was neither some people nor others.

 

Sometimes Kevin was hell-bent on taking me from behind, his long, strong fingers entrenched in my scalp as he thrust in and out mercilessly. I would feel his hot breath and teeth and saliva on my neck as my soul left my body through my nose. My mouth was too busy cursing his name.

 

Other times, he’d pin both of my wrists above my head with one hand and steady himself with the other, fingers digging deep into the flesh of my hip.

 

“Look at me,” he’d say, his voice sounding like silk and his eyes pooling heat between my legs. It was a command, not a request, but it was hard to stay focused with Kevin’s unhurried, calculated pace. With Kevin rolling and then pinching my nipples between his archer’s fingers. With Kevin lazily stroking my sex.

 

With Kevin pulling out just a little bit before thrusting all the way in, over and over again. Soon, I’d be calling out for God, Kevin’s command forgotten, and he’d let go of my wrists to grab my chin, forcing me to look at him.

 

“I said, ‘Look at me,’” he growled, his soft but wicked brown eyes blown black with lust. It was enough to take me over the edge.

 

When sex wasn’t about control, it was about fulfilling Kevin’s darkest desires. Spanking and choking and restraints and blindfold’s aside, Kevin was just plain mean – almost unbearably so, but he could charm his way out of anything. He had certainly charmed my pants off somewhere in between being the class smart-ass and being a good ol’ fashioned prick.

 

When sex wasn’t about control, Kevin toed the line that separated acceptable humiliation and genuine vitriol. But the safe word was never needed, because as much as his taunts and his teases made my face burn, they made me wet as well. I craved his condescension, his narrowed eyes, his cutting phrases, his slightly pursed lips. There was nothing like Kevin’s lips at my ear, running through a list of my greatest faults, my failings of character, my intellectual shortcomings, as three of his long, pale fingers curled inside me.

 

Kevin after sex was very curt, devoid of emotion, business-like—as if he was patient, tender or compassionate to begin with. It should come as no surprise that Kevin was never the cuddling type. If we weren’t fucking in a bathroom stall, in the party host’s bedroom or on my very own bed, he would smirk at me, clean himself off and thank me for a good cum. I was cordially invited to leave as soon as I could.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be seen with me – it was about making me feel dirty, even though he was the one with the blackened soul. In short, we didn’t talk about Kevin.

 

His name slipped off of my tongue in moments of weaknesses – which were plentiful – and he used my name as the stern punctuation of his salacious whisperings. But more often than not, it was Kevin talking about me. Kevin belittled me, Kevin talked shit, Kevin told me when to look at him and Kevin told me when to come. All I could do was cry out to God and say please, and maybe every once and awhile, I begged Kevin just to take me already. But even though we were in the depths of Kevin’s twisted fantasies, fucking perfectly on the dotted lines of Kevin’s psychological playbook, we never really talked about Kevin.

 

Kevin knew my class schedule, my zodiac sign, my allergies and my Myers-Briggs type, but all I could tell you about him was that he collected virus software, was good at archery and knew how to make me cum. I couldn’t tell you his favorite color, but I suspected that it was blue or beige. I couldn’t tell you his birthday or how he preferred to celebrate. I didn’t know his dad’s name, and I had only glimpsed his sister and mother from a distance. We didn’t talk about Kevin.

 

So when he unleashed his sadistic fury on the unsuspecting population of our high school, I didn’t blame myself. But I wondered about the origins of his rage and how all the choking, spanking and verbal humiliation in the world didn’t the fill the void in his burnt, black, deoxygenated little heart.

 


End file.
